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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212632">seeking permanence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/atzxcv/pseuds/atzxcv'>atzxcv</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chaos, Comfort, Magical Tattoos, Soft Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Tattoos, Why is tagging as hard as it is?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:49:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29212632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/atzxcv/pseuds/atzxcv</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Ranboo had always been an artist. There was a permanence to the ink across pale pages, as if he was finally able to say I was here - some physical proof of his past, even as his memory failed him.</i> </p>
<p>Ranboo is gifted a (modded) tattoo machine and puts it to good use.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ranboo Is Best Boi</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>seeking permanence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><em>Obligatory tattoo statement!</em> The tattoo process in this isn't super realistic, since it's a. literally in Minecraft and b. difficult to write in <i>hours and hours</i> of getting tattooed. So, should you choose to get a tattoo, please make sure to do so in a sanitary environment and follow your artist's aftercare instructions!</p>
<p>Secondly, just a friendly reminder: please don't ship... most of the people in here. I think we're at three minors, one married man, and one person who's straight up not comfortable with it. </p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ranboo had always been an artist. There was a permanence to the ink across pale pages, as if he was finally able to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>I was here </span>
  </em>
  <span>- some physical proof of his past, even as his memory failed him. His memory books were scattered with colors, filled with words and images to cling onto when it seemed there was little else he could rely on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Phil who got him the tattoo machine - although Ranboo suspected it to be Techno’s idea, even though the warrior would never admit to it. It was a tiny thing, dwarfed in his almost-enderman-sized hand, powered by some redstone working that might as well have been magic, for all that he understood it. “A new medium for you to try,” Phil had said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo fell in love. He traced lines on leather, shaky lines developing into geometric patterns as his hands became more confident. Over time, he discovered that his skill didn’t fade with his memories. Perhaps the artistry was ingrained into his muscles, into his soul. He was an artist - that would never change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was late one night - or perhaps by that point, early morning - that he sat around the campfire with Technoblade. Sleepless nights were common enough for both of them, each of them plagued with their own nightmares and fears, that their silence was comfortable. Until this night, when the words bubbled up inside his chest. He looked at Technoblade, face illuminated by the fire. The Blade. The Blood God. No, this person was none of these. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was Techno.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His friend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words spilled out of him, a flood he couldn’t stop. “What if I hurt you? What if I forget you and Phil, and I hurt you?” He paused for a heartbeat, breathing deeply. “It’s in my head, every night. I don’t know which is worse - hurting you, or you realizing that I’m no good and getting rid of me before I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno turned towards him, and for a moment, Ranboo thought he had made a grave mistake. Then, his eyes softened as he sighed deeply. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned away, staring back into the fire. The two sat for a moment more, before Techno broke the silence that Ranboo had previously shattered. “Besides, it’s much more likely that I’ll hurt you. That’s what’s in my dreams. Me hurting you. Phil. Wilbur.” His lip twitched upwards, eyes dull and lifeless. “Blood for the blood god.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo had never known that Techno felt that way, although it wasn’t entirely a surprise. He paused for a moment, contemplating the weight of his words. “Techno.” He stared resolutely into the fire. “You’re not a monster. You’re not the Blood God - at least not to me and Phil. You’re Techno. You’re a person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno’s mouth twisted into a dry smile. “It would be nice if other people could remember that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo reached out for a moment, hand hesitating in midair just inches away from Techno. He took a deep breath, pushing down his anxiety, and let his hand rest on Techno, thumb tracing patterns onto his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you… would you give me a tattoo?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo jolted in surprise, hand lifting momentarily before dropping back onto Techno’s shoulder. He had never thought anyone else would trust him enough to let him tattoo them. Frankly, he was still wrapping his mind around the fact that anyone would trust him for anything, much less a permanent marking on their body. And yet, here sat Techno, more vulnerable than Ranboo had ever seen him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Techno. Of course.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The morning found Ranboo bent over Techno’s sword arm, tracing black lines over violet sketches. Ranboo barely registered the light of the campfire slowly being overwhelmed by the sun, staying completely focused on his work. His memory book lay open on his leg, scrawlings and sketches laid before him as additional reference. Techno lay back, his white button-down half off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was in that moment, as Ranboo looked down at Techno, eyes closed and completely relaxed for perhaps the first time in Ranboo’s memory, that he decided what he would ink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo knew that there was a comfort for Techno in diamond, in netherite. Violence was simple, safe, and there were days when Techno feared that his ungentle hands were incapable of anything else. He had watched anger course through him, hands shaking as they curled into fists. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he had also seen those same hands buried in dirt, pulling potatoes for Phil to have that evening. He had watched the kindness with which Techno fed the dogs, making sure each of them was well-fed and happy. There was a delicacy in how he lifted glass vials with the slightest smile as the sunlight shimmered through the liquid inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo wanted to help him see the </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was so often ignored, that even Techno himself sometimes overlooked. And hopefully, on the days when the voices chanted for blood, Techno would know that he was capable of so much more - of creating, of living, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>growing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He started with gladiolus on his shoulders, for strength and integrity. Next came the camellias, for Techno’s unpretending excellence. Valerian wrapped down his biceps for readiness, laced with astilbe - </span>
  <em>
    <span>for the warrior lying in wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranboo thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Red poppies bloomed on the back of Techno’s shoulder, in remembrance of the sacrifices made in the past. Behind it, a chrysanthemum in honor of loyalty and love. Peonies wrapped over the top of his shoulder, for prosperity and honor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On his chest, Ranboo traced the countless petals of the hydrangea. He knew Techno would never voice any thanks to him for their friendship - since friendship was the right word, or so Ranboo hoped. The hydrangea was his way of acknowledging Techno’s gratefulness for being understood, and the second stem his own thanks in return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sprig of sage -</span>
  <em>
    <span> for immortality</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranboo thought with a smile, </span>
  <em>
    <span>since Technoblade never dies</span>
  </em>
  <span> - connected the back and chest, woven together with aster for his wisdom. Unlike the rest of the ink, these would be barely visible above the collar of his cape, to remind Techno of his wisdom and dignity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he finished, the sun was well past its zenith. He sat back with a sigh, smiling at the colors that blossomed before him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Finished?” Techno said, eyes dancing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo paused, tapping his lip with his free hand. “One more thing.” He reached for Techno’s other arm, rolling the sleeve of his somehow still pristine shirt up. On his forearm, just above the back of his hand, he inked a laurel wreath. “For victory.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno stood with a groan, pushing himself off his knees. “Took long enough,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in half a smile. “Let’s go see what we’re working with.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them abandoned their chairs by the fire, walking up the stairs and into the house. Ranboo hovered behind Techno awkwardly as the warrior inspected his work in the mirror, humming occasionally. Ranboo twisted his hands, doing his best to keep them low, even though he knew Techno was likely aware of the motion regardless. In the reflection, Ranboo could see the geometric lines and patterns throughout the blossoms and leaves, which danced between the growth of plants, somehow bringing an element of order to the chaos. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the redness from the inking began to fade, Ranboo could see that he had achieved what he aimed to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>erased</span>
  </em>
  <span> any of Techno’s scars. Rather, he had laced stems and petals around them, incorporating the marks of battle into the piece of art that covered Techno’s upper arm, shoulderblade, and part of his chest. Some of them were actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>accentuated </span>
  </em>
  <span>by the ink, the battles that he knew Techno was proud of woven into the story the flowers told. One particularly vicious scar, one that Ranboo suspected to be from the Butcher Army, was interlaced with poppy stems, peeking between the hydrangea petals. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It looks good,” Techno said, voice tight as he nodded shakily. “Really good.” </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Phil approached him not long after. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was something in the way he held himself - perhaps in the way he held himself tightly before relaxing once Ranboo returned the smile, perhaps the softening of his smile into something more familiar and gentle once he sat down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You saw Techno’s?” Ranboo dares the question, unsure of how to gain footing in this situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” Phil confirmed, quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without the need to say anything else, Ranboo reached into one of his special chests and pulled out the tattoo machine and the plant inks he used. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rather than one mosaic of ink, Ranboo decided to give Phil a few of smaller pieces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He admittedly didn’t know Phil as well as he did Techno, but regardless, he couldn’t doubt the respect he had for Phil as a warrior and as a father. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This wasn’t to say that Phil was perfect. He could be chaotic at the best of times, often overlooking the needs of individuals to improve the greater good. Even as a father, Ranboo had seen the fallout of his actions - Ranboo knew that Phil blamed himself for what had happened to Wilbur (and perhaps to Tommy as well). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even still, Phil was a double edged sword. In spite of his (so-called) betrayal against L’Manberg, the loss he had suffered, and the danger that threatened his only life each day, Phil was by far the fiercest of protectors. The bravest of warriors. The most willing to sacrifice his own self for the good of the people he cared about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the back of Phil’s arm, just above the elbow, he hummed as he inked a delicate orchid into place, a silent visualization of his admiration for Phil as a mentor and friend. Two peonies, stems crossed, unfolded over his heart - </span>
  <em>
    <span>compassion and found family</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranboo thought with a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An elegant dagger began to take shape between Philza’s wings, the handle barely centimeters from the bottom of his hairline. Philza winced as Ranboo inked the delicate skin around the base of his wings. Ranboo’s stomach twisted, wishing that his Enderman silk touch allowed him to completely eliminate the pain of a tattoo rather than simply getting rid of the worst of it, but Phil nodded, encouraging him to continue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Last, just above his non-dominant hand, he carefully traced an aster wreath, for Phil’s wisdom and devotion. The leaves on this wreath were longer, thinner, but he shaped them carefully - enough that it was distinct, but still reminiscent of the wreath on Techno’s wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded as he finished, carefully wiping down Phil’s wrist. Phil took a moment, looking at the tattoos he could, mirroring Ranboo’s nod, before standing with a groan eerily similar to Techno’s. (Ranboo assumed that Techno had picked up on the sound from Phil, but he couldn’t quite tell if he had gotten the nod from Philza or the other way around.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Old man,” Ranboo teased gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil slung an arm around his shoulders - which was quite a feat, considering Ranboo’s height - and pulled him down, ruffling his split-tone hair. “Come on, kid. Let’s go make dinner.”</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur - rather, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghostbur</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the first person that Ranboo </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> to tattoo. Part of it was simple curiosity - was it even possible to tattoo a ghost? - but part of it was something more. Ranboo knew that Ghostbur had a complex relationship with Wilbur, in great part because they shared essentially the same body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo found himself standing in front of Ghostbur, holding the Ender chest, in which he had stored the tattoo machine and a variety of inks - not to mention a number of magical elements he hoped might help. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You- you want to tattoo me?” Ghostbur looked more hesitant than usual, hunching over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ranboo replied. “I do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo paused, unsure of the right answer - if one even existed. “Because I know what it's like to have places in your mind you can’t remember.” He fell silent for a few heartbeats, jaw working up and down as he struggled to find the words. “Because I know what it’s like to feel like your body isn’t your own.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O- okay,” Ghostbur whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took a few days of experimentation to find out how to make ink that didn’t fade away within minutes. It was late evening, the moon well into its path, before Ranboo combined the ink sac and glowstone dust, neutralizing the golden glow with some blue. It still did glow, in an odd way, but it wasn’t out of character for Ghostbur anyways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The designs were simple and small, limited by the amount of ink they had made and Ghostbur’s frankly limited pain tolerance. Ranboo murmured a string of apologies as he crossed over the same spot, Ghostbur doing his best not to jolt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few minutes, Ranboo pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. He paused for a moment, looking down at it, before handing it to Ghostbur. “Here.” This was special - it wasn’t a memory book, as much as it was a dedication to the people he met. Various sketches sprawled across the pages. The margins were filled with notes, indicating why he had chosen various symbols for each person. Ranboo liked to think that the Dream voice wouldn’t be able to decipher his art, his half-Ender scribblings. That voice couldn’t mess with this book. This one was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You should find your page.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this?” Ghostbur mumbled, already flipping through the pages. “Oh, this one has my name!” He looked up at Ranboo, the joy clear in his eyes. He leaned back, holding the book above his head to allow Ranboo access to his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Read it out loud,” Ranboo said with a small smile, before returning to his work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Acacia flowers,” he read out, slow and intentional. “‘According to one of Techno’s mythology rambles, acacia represents the immortal soul.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This particular species is also fire resistant,” Ranboo whispered with a twisted smile. The branch of acacia traced carefully under his collarbone, up towards his shoulder. The tiny blossoms glowed with concentrated ink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s cool,” Ghostbur said, already distracted by the art on his page. “There’s also… does that say </span>
  <em>
    <span>bae?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A bay wreath,” Ranboo replied distractedly, tracing over the violet-yellow pattern that wrapped in a band around Ghostbur’s upper arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I have changed in death,’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ghostbur read, the words heavy in his mouth. He stopped, book dropping down. Ranboo stopped as well, the tip of the needles hovering just above the almost-black lines in Ghostbur’s grayish skin. He risked a glance up at Ghostbur, who was blinking rapidly. “I don’t want to cry. The tears will hurt.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s okay if you do,” whispered Ranboo. “It’s okay if you cry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those words broke the dam. Tears flooded down Ghostbur’s face, even as the moisture caused him to wince in pain. Ranboo set down his machine, wrapping long arms around Ghostbur and pulling him into a tight embrace. Ghostbur shook with the force of his sobs. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, whispering words of comfort in the Ender language.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Ghostbur’s tears subsided. “I’m sorry,” he sniffled, wiping away the wetness with one of his sleeves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Ranboo said, still slightly awkward despite how much he wanted to comfort him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Ghostbur breathed, so quiet that Ranboo wasn’t certain he was meant to hear it at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo hummed in response - an old tune that had stuck with him, although he couldn’t remember the source. Ghostbur hummed with him, a strangely haunting countermelody, the two of them accompanying the hum of the redstone machine. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>It came as no surprise when Tommy and Tubbo approached him in Snowchester, practically cornering him in the castle Tubbo was building. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… hi?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranboo, big man! How are ya?” Tommy’s voice was familiarly boisterous, still a little scratchy from some adventure Ranboo wasn’t sure he even wanted to hear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Ranboo,” Tubbo added, much quieter than Tommy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“P- pretty alright, I guess. What’s up?” He did his best to look confident, hoping he wasn’t about to be taken hostage for his silk touch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you see, big man-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps sensing Ranboo’s anxiety, Tubbo cut Tommy off before he could completely overwhelm the conversation. “We were hoping you would give us some tattoos as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“YEAH,” Tommy cried, fist pumping in the air. “We saw that Techno had some kind of thing, and then Ghostbur told us that you were able to ink us up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well, yeah, we can do that.” Ranboo sighed, muscles relaxing, the majority of his anxiety gone. “Got an Ender chest?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having already experimented combining inks with more mystical substances, he was more confident with mixing together a few batches of ink. One was simply ink sacs, the black ink serving as a base. He added a combination of redstone dust and glowstone powder to a second, the powders giving off little bursts of red and golden energy. To the third, indubitably the most difficult, he ground some scrap netherite from his most recent mining trip, adding it slowly to the ink until it was perfectly smooth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he worked, leaning over the small mortar and pestle he had created for this exact purpose, he watched the pair. In spite of their trials and the guilt each of them bore for the other’s suffering, they truly were brothers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo had glimpsed the compass that Tommy used to carry before the Third War. (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Before he betrayed us. Before he picked a side,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a voice that sounded suspiciously like Techno reminded him.) He had heard about Tubbo’s compass as well, although he hadn’t had the chance to see it yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In spite of the unique relationships he shared with each of them, some aspects of them had been immortalized in his memory books. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Your Tommy”</span>
  </em>
  <span> was written in shaky script, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Your Tubbo”</span>
  </em>
  <span> mirrored on the opposite page. A massive compass was split between the two pages, the elegant concentric circles contrasting the bold lines of the compass rose splashed with shades of red, green, and gold. Stories of their adventures lined the margins, from his laughter with Tubbo in Logstedshire to the time he and Tommy teamed up to prank Techno. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just like Phil and Techno, it seemed only fitting that the two of them have paired tattoos. In this case, more literally so. Using a nail dipped in violet ink, he traced a delicate pattern of circles onto each of their left hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He started in the centers, doing both at the same time. Despite their awkward arrangement, the two of them chattered on about everything and nothing while he worked. In the center of each palm, he filled in a circle, carefully rationing out the tiny amount of netherite ink he was able to make. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Returning to regular ink, he began to place the points of the compass rose. The largest points extended from the central circle to the edge of their hands, the tips ending just before their palms curved away. Next, the larger of the concentric circles - it wove below the lines, about a centimeter away from the points. He filled in the secondary points and another circle behind them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was strange work to duplicate the geometric shapes, especially considering how much larger Tommy’s hand was than Tubbo’s. Even still, he found himself falling into rhythm, soothed by their words flowing past them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And finally, using the ink infused with redstone dust and glowstone pattern, he traced a myriad of points around the circle. Small lines extended just past the points of the compass rose. He carefully placed slightly longer lines on the larger circle, between the primary and secondary points - and between those, even smaller lines. By the time he finished, there were 48 lines on each boy’s palm, glowing red and gold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In hopes that he would be able to keep the two still for at least a moment longer, he traced another stencil for each of them. Matching leafy vines wrapped around their wrists like bracelets, blossoms reaching up towards their hand - some going far enough to brush the compass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For Tommy, speedwell: love, loyalty, and protection. In spite of Tommy’s many errors (</span>
  <em>
    <span>“arguable errors!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tommy’s voice echoed in his mind), Tommy was loyal to a fault - perhaps even fatally so. Regardless, it was that faithfulness, that willingness and love for the things he held dearest, that made Tommy such a force to be reckoned with. The secondary meaning - </span>
  <em>
    <span>travel</span>
  </em>
  <span> - was perhaps a tiny bit cruel, reminiscent of Tommy’s exile. However, it was also a nod to Tommy’s resilience. As much as Tommy hated change, he had done so for the people he loved. As a leader, he was willing to put aside his issues to face a greater challenge. He had apologized, for the first time in Ranboo’s (admittedly weak) memory. And possibly the largest change of all: he had been willing to sacrifice the discs to save Tubbo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo, with his innocence and careful thoughtfulness, could only have freesia blossoms. Somehow, Ranboo was most nervous to tattoo Tubbo. He couldn’t quite place the feelings, but he knew from his memory books that he wasn’t sure if Tubbo was his friend or not. He paused for a moment, the needle mere millimeters from Tubbo’s skin, and exhaled hard, pushing away the anxiety. Perhaps that was exactly what it was - if he messed this up, he would never get the chance to see the potential their friendship would hold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he set down his machine, stretching out his hands as multiple joints cracked throughout his long arms. “I think it should be finished. Would you like to see if they work?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I- if what works?” Tubbo said, fingers already twisting and fidgeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t do that,” Ranboo said offhandedly. He blinked hard. “Actually, I’m going to ask you to do something a bit weirder. Put your palms together for just a moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“TUBBO, HIGH FIVE,” Tommy cried, already winding up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“NO,” Ranboo shouted. To his surprise, both of them froze, their left hands above their heads. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gently,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he said with a heavy sigh. “It will hurt like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span> if you high five on a fresh tattoo. Put your palms together </span>
  <em>
    <span>gently.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They did so, both stifling laughter for some inexplicable reason. After a moment, they separated again, both staring in awe at their upturned hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“WHAAAAAAT?” Tommy’s scream rang through the air, echoed by Tubbo’s shout not even a second afterwards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seemed that Ranboo’s design had the intended effect. Tattooed onto each of their palms, surrounded by leafy blossoms, were functional compasses. The netherite at the center served as a lodestone - Ranboo had some half-formed theory that it only worked because of the minerals in their blood. The marks around the edges, infused with redstone dust and glowstone powder, glowed a golden red, pointing to the other person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on. Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo, spin around me,” Tommy instructed, eyes dancing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay!” Tubbo began to twirl around the other boy, not only circling him but also rotating on his own axis. Both of them stared at their hands, watching the glowing indication circle around their palms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo couldn’t help but let out a chuckle watching the two of them, but as soon as the laughter left his throat, Tommy and Tubbo’s heads snapped towards him. They exchanged a glance before springing into simultaneous action, practically tackling him to the ground in a high-velocity hug. All three of them burst into laughter, their amusement echoing into the sky. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it was strange that it had taken so long for Ranboo to tattoo himself. Or maybe it was simply a matter of time. At some point, it didn’t matter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was late one night that Ranboo shot up from sleep, mind running with thousands of thoughts he could barely begin to grasp, save for one emotion: </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He curled into himself, pressing himself into the corner of his shack. He raked shaking hands through his hair, twisting his fingers through the two-tone strands. His chest began to ache, caught between sobs and shallow breaths. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he uncurled, running a hand raggedly across his face to wipe away the tears he didn’t realize had started. With a shaky sigh, he pushed himself out of the bed, shoving aside the covers as he ducked out of his shack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think Techno would be too mad if I went inside, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought to himself. He just needed… something. Something familiar. Something safe. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>echoed Techno’s low voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, wincing as the door creaked on worn hinges, he crept into Techno’s cabin. In the darkness, he made his way to their tiny kitchen, setting an always-prepared kettle on to boil. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, a voice echoed from behind him. “Late night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo spun around, practically leaping away from the kettle. Phil stood in the doorway, emerald earring glittering in a sliver of moonlight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Ranboo whispered guiltily, feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No need to apologize.” Phil’s voice was low with sleep, even as he stretched slightly. “I said you were welcome anytime, and I meant it. Tea?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo nodded, a tinge of the earlier fear returning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two sat in silence as Phil measured out the tea - his own blend, something he was very proud of - and carefully poured water over it. Ranboo’s eyebrow quirked for a moment, noticing the third cup. The question soon answered itself as Techno crept into the kitchen, hauntingly silent despite his size. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about it?” Phil was the first to break the silence. Techno hummed lowly into his tea, drinking deeply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I- I guess, but I don’t know what to say,” Ranboo said, even the simple words catching in his throat. He sipped the tea in an attempt to clear his throat, but somehow, the taste only tightened it. “Have you ev- have you ever felt like your body isn’t yours?” He wrapped his hands around the mug, long fingers lacing together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno let out another rumble. “Not in the way you mean, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Phil said, voice as honest as it had ever been. “It was a bit after the first destruction of L’Manberg. During the explosion, I p-” He sighed deeply. “I used my wings to protect W- to protect Wilbur.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo nodded, eyes wide. He’d heard the whispered stories, saw the glances out of the corners of people’s eyes when they saw Philza’s burnt wings. Techno pinned him to his chair with a look that threatened violence if he even thought to upset Philza, protective aura filling the kitchen’s silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if sensing it, Phil let out a shaky laugh as he looked into his tea. “Calm down, Techno. He’s alright.” He looked up again, locking eyes with Ranboo. “It was a piece of me that was gone. Burned away. I wasn’t the same person after that, for a lot of reasons.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you do?” Ranboo asked, leaning forward. “What helped?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Honestly, it was really hard for a really long time,” Phil replied. “There’s no universal solution for that type of feeling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” whispered Ranboo, sadness rising in his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But,” Phil continued. “What helped was doing things for myself. Finding the things that made me </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> other than my wings. I’m a father, with or without my wings. I can farm a pretty mean potato. Hell, I don’t even need my wings to beat Techno in a duel.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wish, old man,” Techno poked in, a smile evident even through his sleep-laced voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil elbowed him with a crooked smile. “Anyways, Ranboo, there are things that make you </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re an artist. You’ve got damn cool main character abilities. And you’re our friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The honesty, the simultaneous vulnerability and strength in Phil’s words caused a pang in Ranboo’s chest, the sadness threatening to overwhelm him again. “But I- I’m not-'' He pushed down tears. “I’m not a good person. I think I’ve done terrible things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Being a good person’s overrated,” Techno rumbled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil huffed out a laugh. “Techno does have a point. We’ve all done bad things. I’m pretty sure most people would consider Techno and me to be bad people. But either way, that’s not what makes you </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You get to define who you are. You get to be whoever you want to be. If someone is going to try to make you something you’re not, or if they make you think you don’t deserve something, then you tell them to fuck right off, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo sat in silence for a moment, jaw slightly open as his brain processed Phil’s words. He wasn’t sure how long it had been before he blurted out, “Would you sit with me while I tattoo myself?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Ranboo,” Phil said with an easy smile. “However long it takes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It only took him a matter of minutes to prepare, having already ground a full variety of extra ink in case someone surprised him (again). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He started with a forget-me-not. How could he not? The flower bloomed on the side of his wrist, petals brushing the curve where his hand met his wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he worked, Ranboo listened absentmindedly while Phil and Techno spoke, voices quiet and deliberate. Their discussion seemed mundane, but they treated each topic with consideration. Phil wanted to know if Techno wanted any changes to the next batch of tea. Techno asked Phil how the villager trades were, since it had been a while since he had been able to visit them. Each of them checked on the other’s chats, their shared experience with the voices allowing them to understand each other in a unique way. Their words washed over Ranboo as he worked, stilling his trembling fingers. It was comforting in a way he had never experienced before. It felt - dare he say it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt like home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the outer side of his ankle, he carefully traced out thousands of petals of a hyacinth stem, the ink glowed blue and gold against his enderman skin. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hyacinth for sincerity.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was still hard for Ranboo to grasp his enderwalk state, to be accountable for things he didn’t remember. It was equally hard to forgive himself for things he didn’t do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In spite of that, Ranboo desperately wanted to be honest. Even at the worst of times, he wanted to be a friend. He wanted to protect the people closest to him - including Phil and Techno. He wanted to be himself - truly and sincerely himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, on the inside of his wrist, he carefully traced the lines to form a crown. It glittered with glowstone powder, bright even against white skin. It wasn’t much. But it was a reminder that he was Ranboo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that was enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set the tattoo machine down gently. He sighed, taking a moment to try and account for his emotions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt… different, somehow. There was something new, something healing and refreshing all at once. His fear wasn’t gone, per se. He somehow knew that it wouldn’t completely stop the nightmares that woke him up at night. It wouldn’t stop the panic from rising as his breath caught in his throat. But it was a permanent reminder that he wasn’t alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat up straighter, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Feeling better?” Phil asked, looking at him from across the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y- yeah,” Ranboo said, turning slightly red at the sudden attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Phil said, pushing himself up from the table. “More tea?” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>YES, THAT'S THE ENDING I CHOSE TO GIVE THIS. Listen, I have big thoughts about this, plenty of which didn't make the cut into this fic. And yes, I did give c!Ranboo the same tattoo that Ranboo The Streamer said he would consider getting at some point. </p>
<p>Leave some comments and kudos to fuel my motivation? Or come yell at me on <a href="atzxcv.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a>...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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